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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116527">For the Fallen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisapaige/pseuds/thisisapaige'>thisisapaige</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Thisisapaige's Suptober20 Collection [19]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Angst, But he's trying, Canon Compliant, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Drunk Dean Winchester, Grieving Dean Winchester, Just Roll With It, M/M, Missing Scene, One Shot, Post-Episode: s15e13 Destiny's Child, Post-Mary Winchester's Death, Supportive Castiel (Supernatural), Suptober 2020 (Supernatural), discussion of death and grief, i think, the timeline of supernatural makes 0 sense</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:09:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,866</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116527</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisapaige/pseuds/thisisapaige</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>(For Suptober20. Day 19 Prompt: Pour One Out)</p><p>⁂<br/>[Dean] went by the library, like he did every day, and saw, carved into that table, the letters 'M' and 'W.'</p><p>That's when Dean poured one out.</p><p>Cas found Dean sitting on the kitchen floor with a half-empty fifth of whiskey and a bunch of empty beer bottles on the counter behind his head. Cas didn't say anything. He just sat right next to Dean, right on the kitchen floor, and waited.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Thisisapaige's Suptober20 Collection [19]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950343</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>For the Fallen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Every November second, Dean drank. He called it 'pouring one out for the fallen' but, really, it was so he could drink.</p><p>Because, that way, he wouldn't have to think too hard about everything and everyone he lost.</p><p>Mom. Dad. Bobby. Jo. Ellen. Kevin. Charlie. Those were just the tip of a deep, deep iceberg. There were more people, people Dean couldn't save, people who were caught in the crossfire of multiple world-ending events. Hell, Dean even lost Sam a couple of times, Jack once, and Cas way, way more times than Dean wanted to count.</p><p>It was getting difficult to fit them all in one day.</p><p>This whole 'tradition,' if Dean could get away with calling it that, started with him mom. The problem with this year was now he had two days to mark her death.</p><p>Dean was tired of it. He was tired of the grieving, tired of the sadness, tired of feeding into that endless cycle of despair.</p><p>So, on the anniversary of his mother's death (the second one), Dean woke up early in the morning and cooked breakfast.</p><p>Sam was the first one to investigate. Sure, it was probably because Sam was an early riser most days, but Dean had just started cooking the bacon. Dean bet it was really because of the smell of bacon (he knew it was because of the smell of bacon).</p><p>"What are you doing?" Sam asked, a tentative smile curling his lips.</p><p>"I'm learning how to dance the mamba." Dean checked the status of his eggs. He was going to successfully make an omelette this time, <em>not </em>scrambled eggs. "Why? What does it look like I'm doing?"</p><p>"Making breakfast."</p><p>"Does it?" Moment of truth. Flip and (yes!) success. Dean made an omelette. "Huh. Guess I am."</p><p>"Why, though?"</p><p>"You know why." Spatula still in hand, Dean faced Sam. As soon as they made eye contact it was clear Sam figured it out. Dean returned to his task, gesturing to the counter where a small pack of fake bacon, all shrink-wrapped and sad-looking, sat lonely and alone. "Are you still going on about your cholesterol? Because I'm an awesome brother, I will"-- Dean heaved a great sigh-- "<em>attempt </em>to make those suckers edible." </p><p>Sam walked up to the stove. Dean slapped Sam's hand before he grabbed a handful of Dean's freshly grated cheese with his grubby fingers. Sam flashed an offended look by, hey, Sam knew the rules: wash up first.</p><p>"You should worry more about<em> your </em>cholesterol," Sam said. "But, y'know, it's a special occasion. Bring on the bacon."</p><p>"See, I knew I raised you right," Dean said.</p><p>Sam went quiet then, completely earnest, said, "Yeah. You did all right."</p><p>Wow. Thanks a lot, Sam. The whole point of this was to <em>not </em>cry.</p><p>"Can you, uh…" Dean cleared his throat. "Can you go see if the kid's up?"</p><p>Because, if anyone was going to try to spend the day wallowing (special thanks to that newly intact soul), it would be Jack. Dean was trying. Dean was trying to extend a branch to Jack. He figured breakfast would be a good start.</p><p>Sam stared longingly at the sizzling pan of bacon. "Fine. But you better set aside a bunch of that for me before he gets to it."</p><p>"No promises. Oh, and, Cas is still around right?" Dean asked like he didn't already know. "Tell him to come, too."</p><p>Sam only smiled before he left the kitchen.</p><p>Jack did look a little wallow-y when he sat down at the kitchen table but, once Dean presented him with a (mighty fine looking, if Dean said so himself and he did) omelette covered in cheese and a pile of bacon, he smiled. A little.</p><p>See, Sam? Everyone loved bacon. Cholesterol, smo-lesteral.</p><p>Dean set out another, smaller plate out for Cas. Cas didn't need to eat but, if Dean gave him something, he'd at least try it. Most of the time he would take a bite or two, make that cute little squinty face, then push it away. That was okay. That was okay because, even if Dean always gave him shit for it, Cas at least gave it a try. They discovered a few different drinks and a couple of foods Cas would tolerate. </p><p>And now, Cas could sit at a family meal and be part of it.</p><p>That's what this was all about, really, celebrating what Dean gained, rather than what Dean lost.</p><p>The morning went well. The afternoon went by normally (well, as normal as the life of an angel, a nephilim, and two brothers who lived in a secret underground bunker waiting for their chance to fight capital-G God could, anyway) and the evening was okay. It was nighttime when Dean encountered a problem.</p><p>He went by the library, like he did every day, and saw, carved into that table, the letters 'M' and 'W.'</p><p>That's when Dean poured one out.</p><p>Cas found Dean sitting on the kitchen floor with a half-empty fifth of whiskey and a bunch of empty beer bottles on the counter behind his head. Cas didn't say anything. He just sat right next to Dean, right on the kitchen floor, and waited.</p><p>"I thought I was okay." It was the first time Dean spoke since he started drinking. He cringed at how he slurred the words. "But then, wham, I wasn't."</p><p>"You don't have to be," Cas said, soft and kind, "considering the day."</p><p>Dean didn't bother with a glass. He drank right from the bottle. "You remembered, huh?"</p><p>"One year, ten hours, and twenty-six minutes."</p><p>"Nerd." Dean raised the corner of his mouth. It wasn't exactly a smile. "I'm trying, you know? I'm trying to handle it, but…" Dean shook his head and wiped his face, angry at the wetness he felt there. "I don't wanna talk about this."</p><p>"Okay," Cas said, lifting the bottle from Dean's grip, "let's not talk.”</p><p>They drank in silence. Cas finished off most of the last half of the bottle. Dean had a feeling there was something strategic in that. After all, Cas could drink a whole liquor store before he got drunk. Had Dean finished the bottle, he would have been even more of a mess than he already was. </p><p>Cas set the empty bottle aside and kept to his word. He didn’t talk about it. He didn’t talk about it at all. In fact, he seemed quite content to sit there for as long as Dean needed him there.</p><p>Dean wondered if Cas knew that there was a real possibility that it would be forever. </p><p>Cas was Dean’s family. Cas was Dean’s best friend. Cas was, in all the ways that mattered, a Winchester.</p><p>Cas was Dean’s broth--</p><p>No. That wasn’t right. Dean tried calling Cas that before but the word was heavy on his tongue, bitter tasting, not quite right.</p><p>Cas raised an eyebrow at Dean. It took a moment (oh) before Dean realized he was staring. It wasn’t that Cas was annoyed or anything (the dude made intense eye contact <em>way </em>too much for it to be that) but he did seem concerned. He shouldn’t have to worry about Dean, so Dean continued staring at Cas (great job, Dean) and tried to find something to say.</p><p>“I like your face,” Dean blurted.</p><p>To Cas’s credit, he kept a neutral expression. “My face.”</p><p>“Believe it or not, a lot of thought happened up here.” Dean waved a finger around his head. Woah. Spinny.</p><p>“I’m sure,” Cas said.</p><p>“But I mean it, y’know, I like your face. I like having you here.” Dean closed his eyes. Maybe that way the world would stop spinning and he could think of what to say. “Miss you when you’re not here.”</p><p>Cas was quiet for a long time before he whispered, “I miss you, too.”</p><p>Three slow blinks later, Dean processed the words. "Then stick around. As much as you can. I--” Dean sat up straight (was the floor always kinda bendy?) and grabbed Cas’s arm with both hands, gripping it tight. “I lost enough already, okay? So, stick around. Stay. Be-- be alive ‘cause losing you really fucking sucks.”</p><p>Maybe Dean wasn’t making a whole lot of sense (there was <em>a lot </em>of whiskey in his system) because Cas didn’t move, didn’t blink. His eyes stayed on Dean, shining in a way Dean couldn’t understand in the dark, tilting kitchen.</p><p>“Dean, I-- You--” Cas looked away. “You should sleep.”</p><p>Dean mumbled a sound that was supposed to be an agreement. He tried to stand up but the floor was all rubbery and weird so Dean stumbled. Cas caught him and wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist. Together, they stumbled down the bunker’s hallways toward Dean’s room.</p><p>“Wow,” Dean said after Cas practically picked him up one-handed when Dean kept running into the garbage can trying leaving the kitchen, “you’re <em>so </em>strong.”</p><p>“I am an angel, Dean,” Cas said.</p><p>“Oh! Right!” Dean let Cas pull him around the corner. He was busy focusing on the intricacies of walking (and failing at it). “I like strong.”</p><p>Cas breathed deeply. Dean couldn’t see his face well enough to figure out what that meant.</p><p>They made it to Dean’s room, no thanks to Dean and all thanks to Cas. Dean hit the wall four or five times before Cas flipped the light switch on the <em>other </em>side of the door. Whoops. Dean knew that.</p><p>Cas led Dean into the room, settled Dean onto the edge of the bed, and made a move like he was about to leave. Dean snatched a handful of trench coat before Cas could.</p><p>“Wait. Gotta tell you something,” Dean said.</p><p>Cas waited, expectant, but, when Dean didn’t say anything, Cas asked, “Tell me what?”</p><p>“That, uh…” Dean looked up at Cas. Wow. He liked that face. He parted his lips. One might even say he more than liked it. “That I lo--”</p><p>The word got stuck. It was light on his tongue, sweet tasting, the right one, but Dean just couldn’t say it. The last few people who heard that word from him died. Dean wanted Cas to stick around.</p><p>Dean stood up instead. He shuffled forward, expending a lot of effort to not fall, then practically lunged at Cas, draping both his arms over Cas’s shoulders. Cas was solid as hell, not even stumbling when he ended up with all six odd feet of Dean in his arms. When Cas wrapped his arms around Dean it was so warm, so soft, so right.</p><p>It took a lot of effort to pull away. </p><p>“G’night, Cas,” Dean said, climbing into bed, shoes and all.</p><p>“Goodnight, Dean,” Cas said, turning off the light. “Sleep well.”</p><p>Cas’s words were like a magic spell (angel spell?) because, by the time Cas closed the door behind him, Dean was sound asleep. He dreamed of blonde hair, the smell of apple pie, and yellow light. He dreamed of blue eyes, strong hands, and shadows. </p><p>The shadows made him worry but, when he woke up to a hangover and stumbled into the kitchen for water and saw Cas sitting there, right where he belonged, Dean forgot all about it. </p>
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